The Aftermath
by xSadistxFujix
Summary: Everything changes. Thoughts. Hearts. Emotions. The boys they raised, grew up knowing, were friends with have been revealed to not be who people thought they were. This is the aftermath of the revelations. Sequel to "The Reactions of Many"
1. Chris Kriegman

**A/N:** First chapter in probably another 4 chaptered story. This is the sequel to "_The Reactions of Many_", but isn't needed to read this, if anyone decides to do so.

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><p><strong>May 6<strong>**th****, 2001  
>12:46 PM<strong>

Chris stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was a little difficult to move lately. All he could do was sit and think. He would have to force himself to go through the motions of the day, ignoring the press outside of his house, wanting an interview with the "gunman's cousin".

Gunman's cousin. That was what he had been reduced to. That's all people thought of him now. The cousin where they had gotten the guns from—never mind the fact that they had _stolen _the guns from him. There were still a few people standing by him, but most of his friends hadn't come to visit him. Jayme had stopped by, but he had also been there with them when they had been shooting the guns.

Jayme had said he didn't blame him. Who could have known that Andre and Calvin would have stolen the guns to do _that_?

Either way, it hadn't made him feel any better. If anything, it had made him feel even worse knowing that if he had just opened his eyes and looked, he could've stopped this from happening. He shouldn't have let them see where he kept the keys and the guns. They were hidden for a reason, and he hadn't even thought before showing them because Andre was his cousin and he had known Calvin for years.

Glancing over at the clock, he sighed. It was about time for him to get going to work. He supposed it was better than just laying around all day, and he knew he should be thankful for the fact that he hadn't _lost _his job because of his relation to one of the shooters.

The only thing was that going to work meant that he would have to brave going outside and facing the press. He would have to listen to their prodding questions and their accusations. He didn't really want to but he knew he didn't have a choice.

Even after tragedy, life went on, and Chris couldn't hide from it. It had been almost a week—a week that somehow felt agonizingly slow and painfully fast all at the same time. Time would heal, people said, but time liked to take its… well, _time_.

Chris let out a breath and stood, grabbing his keys. He looked over at _that _closet door before swallowing tightly and walking out. Taking in a deep breath—so deep it hurt—he walked out of the house, locking his door.

The loud yell of his name met his ears and he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, pushing past the swarm of bodies that had suddenly surrounded him.

"Chris, was there any hint from Andre and Calvin?"

"What was your reaction when you heard they used your guns to do this? Did you give them the guns? Did you know?"

"Do you condone what they did? Are you angry at them? What are your feelings about what your cousin and his friend have done? About the twelve lives that they took on that day?"

Chris swallowed, hands shaking as he unlocked his car door. He blocked out the rest of the questions, quickly getting inside his car, slamming the door shut. Hitting the steering wheel, he glared down, tugging at his seatbelt and putting it on.

He started the car, driving off, honking at the press moving close to his car. Chris only wanted to be left alone, he wanted to start getting over this, although he knew that wouldn't happen any time soon.

Chris felt a little sick knowing that he was related to Andre. He wished that this didn't taint his image of the cousin that he had known since he was a baby, but it _did_. How could it not? The last time he had seen Andre, they had been talking and laughing like normal and now… Andre was dead along with Calvin and twelve other people. Only the twelve other people had been killed—murdered by his cousin and cousin's best friend.

He wished he wasn't related to that… monster. It was really the only word that could accurately describe Andre, and he felt horrible about that, but it was the truth. Andre had to have known that was what he would think, what everyone would think.

Chris wondered how his aunt and uncle were doing. He had been to see them the day after but not since. He supposed he would find out tomorrow though.

Tomorrow was Andre's funeral, and although he really didn't want to see that… person's funeral for obvious reasons, he would go there for his aunt and uncle. They needed the support. He didn't know if Calvin's family would be going to Andre's funeral or not, but if they didn't, he doubted anybody else would be going. He didn't want Johanne and Gerhard to be alone on that day.

They didn't deserve the treatment they were bound to be getting because they were wonderful people. He didn't blame them for what had happened. Chris only blamed Andre and Calvin.

So far the aftermath had been horrible, but he knew there was more to come. The aftermath of what those two boys—whom he had thought he had known—would never end. How could it when what they did would forever change the lives of everybody involved?

Chris didn't see how it was possible. Yet, then again, Chris didn't see how time would ever heal these wounds either, wounds in the shape of bullet holes that just caused questions and confusion in the minds and hearts of everyone in this town, the state, the country… maybe even in the entire world.


	2. Rachel Lurie

**May 12****th****, 2001  
>1:17 PM<strong>

She wasn't moving, barely thinking. She had to have her mom throw out the tomato soup she had made because just the sight of it had made her throw up. Red was now a hated color. She couldn't stand looking at it. It had reminded her of the blood she had caught site of as she made her way out of the school eleven days earlier.

Rachel wrapped her arms loosely around her legs, staring straight ahead at the wall opposite her. She could still hear a few press outside of the house, trying to convince her parents to let them talk to her. They wanted to know all the details about Calvin—her former best friend. How she felt having been in the library as the boy killed their classmates.

Honestly, she didn't know how she felt. There was that part of her that felt absolutely _disgusted _at having been Calvin's friend, the friend of a murderer. Yet there was also that part that felt… sorry for him. She should have seen the true him. She had been closest to him—besides Andre—hadn't she?

The girl had mixed feelings about that. On one hand, she liked to think she had been, but on the other she still felt that horror inside of her.

Disappointment wasn't something in which she was lacking in. Disappointment in Calvin, but mostly disappointment in herself. Rachel couldn't believe she hadn't seen signs. Calvin had even _told _her, but she had passed it off like a joke.

She had always told herself that if one of her friends ever felt like that, she would recognize it for what it was. Except her friend had told her outright and she hadn't seen it for what it was. Depression. A cry for help maybe?

Except… Calvin had never seemed unhappy. He was _always _happy, especially around Andre. Maybe he never was crying for help. Maybe he really _had _wanted to do what he had done.

Rachel closed her eyes, feeling them water. She wouldn't cry, she knew that. She had cried so much over the last two weeks that her tear ducts didn't produce enough tears for herself to actually cry. Rachel almost wished she could though—the only time she had gotten any sleep since then was when she had cried herself into exhaustion.

A knock came at her door and she took in a breath, running her hand through her tangled brown hair. "Come in." She called out softly, the door opening. Rachel tried to smile as Brian walked in, but instead it came out more like a grimace. "Y-you're the first one to come visit me… I didn't think anybody was going to."

Brian frowned and closed the door before taking a seat on the bed next to her. Rachel scooted over a bit to make room for him, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her. "I think nobody… we just don't know what to say."

Her brown eyes fell shut again. "Me neither." Biting down on her lip, she held in a small sob. "I don't know what to think, what to say… the press are bombarding my parents and siblings every time they walk out the door. I haven't left my room in nearly two weeks, I can't hold solid food down…"

Brian squeezed her arm a bit, pulling her closer and resting his head on hers. "This… people don't get that this is going to be hard on you two. Just as hard as it is for the victim's families and for their… their parents." Rachel took in a shaky breath. "Calvin was your friend. I met him and he seemed really nice—a bit shy, but nice. Nobody thinks someone is going to do something like that, you can't blame yourself, Rach."

Rachel wiped at her cheek, feeling a small tear start to spill over, although it didn't make it very far. "But I was Calvin's _friend _for five years. I knew him even before he knew Andre. How can someone not notice that their friend has problems like that? No, I even asked him and he told me… I teased him about having some hidden evil and you know what he said, Brian?"

The boy frowned, shaking his head, deciding to just let her speak.

"He said that he did and that he locked it away so that nobody would see it… he _told _me and I thought he was just joking; going along with my teasing, but he wasn't." She opened her eyes, looking over at him. "How could I not see it for what it was?"

"Who could see that?" Brian asked, lightly running his fingers through her hair, trying to comfort her. "Nobody is going to see something like that. Calvin must have been hiding his feelings for a _really _long time. He was probably a really good liar. You wouldn't see it if he didn't want you to, and he didn't want you to see it. I do know one thing though."

Rachel glanced over at him. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"That he wouldn't want you to blame yourself." Rachel gave a small laugh. "No really. Even though he did… that, I could tell he cared about you. You really were his friend, not just a cover for one. I don't think he'd want you to blame yourself. People would kill me for saying this… but if it helps you then I don't care. Try remembering Calvin as the Calvin _you _knew, not for the Calvin that is spread all through the newspapers and on TV, okay?"

Rachel looked down at her hands. "I don't know if I can do that though… I was, Brian. You weren't. You didn't hear the things he said. The way he _taunted _them, and I want to talk about it but I'm scared."

"I'll listen…" He told her softly, arm tightening around her slightly.

"It was horrible. He was laughing at their fear and their pain. He screamed at a girl asking if she was d-dead yet. Th-the girl ended up dying." Rachel clenched her eyes shut, the screams echoing through her mind. "'Jesus, look at all the blood' he said. He sounded so _awed_. It makes me feel sick. He even told one of the guys to look at some girl—she was probably dead."

Rachel took in a shuddering breath. "I'm just.. I'm thankful for that guy with me. He nearly carried me trying to get us out. If he hadn't I probably would've been there when they…"

"Shh… Rachel, you can stop now, you can stop." Brian pulled her into a tight, the girl shaking in his arms. "I know it's difficult, but try putting it out of your mind. No good will come of continuing to think of it."

The brunette nodded against his shoulder before pulling back. "Thank you for coming to see me, Brian. I really… I needed the company."

Brian gave her a small smile. "You know, if I wasn't gay, I would totally date you."

Rachel gave a watery laugh, wiping at her face. "Great, a gay guy likes me." Both of them laughed, but they both knew it would be awhile before either of them—especially Rachel—would be laughing completely again.


	3. The Kriegmans

**A/N:** This is short, but I honestly had no clue what to do with the Kriegmans. XD If I ever think of something better though, I'll replace this with it.

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><p><strong>May 17<strong>**th****, 1999  
>11:23 AM<strong>

Johanne tried to ignore the looks as she wandered around the grocery store. She and her husband had tried to go out as little as possible in the last two and a half weeks, but at times they eventually had to wander out of the household.

She knew that people judged her. She couldn't really blame them. After what Andre had done to _everyone_… even Johanne couldn't help but blame herself. If she had just paid more attention to her son, she probably would have seen that something was wrong. There had been something deeply wrong with Andre.

But both she and her husband had been blind to it.

Maybe that was to be expected though. He was their son. Perhaps it was because of that reason that they were so blind to his faults. All they ever saw was the smart, talented, sweet child that they had given birth to and had raised.

She wished that they could just go back in time with their memories of this intact just so that they could stop him. Johanne loved her son, even knowing what he had done, but it hurt. How could she have raised a murderer? Had her parenting gone wrong somewhere down the line? Why had Andre been so depressed? Why had he been so _angry_?

None of it connected in her mind. She was playing connect the dots and the picture didn't make any sense in the least. This had to be some horrible nightmare… a nightmare that wanted to last _forever_.

"Johanne…" the woman took in a breath, preparing herself for whatever was to come before turning around. It was one of her old friends—Heather Roads—but so far most of her friends had turned on her, and she wouldn't be shocked if Heather did as well.

"Heather," she gave a small nod, hands clenching around her shopping basket. The red haired woman looked at her hesitantly before glancing away. "You don't need to say anything. I understand if you want to cut off ties. Everyone else already has and I'm… not going to blame you for it."

The woman frowned. "Johanne, I wanted to… to tell you how sorry I am for your loss."

Johanne Kriegman blinked back tears, looking at her friend—former friend?—in slight shock. "Sorry for my loss?"

Heather gave a small nod. "I am sorry, Johanne. I don't—of course I don't condone what Andre… what he did, but people seem to forget that you and Gerhard lost a son in all of this. They want someone to point fingers at, but I know you and Gerhard are—were wonderful parents. Nobody loved their child more than you two."

Johanne closed her eyes, shaking slightly where she stood. "T-thank you… but I don't blame those people. My son… took the life of somebody else's son or daughter. I can't blame them for hating me and my husband. Somewhere we must have gone wrong with raising Andre."

"No, Johanne, you can't think like that. Look, I know it may not be much, but if you ever need to talk to someone about this, I'll be here for you. These past few weeks have probably been harder on you and Gerhard than anybody else."

"I wouldn't say that," she sighed, opening her eyes and looking at her friend. "Others lost children too. Teenagers were scarred for life. I can't imagine what it must be like for the teenagers that were… inside the school at the time. And I don't blame them for hating us. I hate myself. A part of me will never forgive Andre for doing what he did, how could I? What he did is so… unthinkable. Gerhard barely speaks; neither of us really speak much, actually. Neither of us are going to move on from this. Time cannot heal these wounds."

"I'm sure that's not true. In a few years maybe you'll—"

"No, it will not. Our only child is gone and the manner of which he… was taken from us will forever haunt us, Heather. There will be no healing from this. Maybe in five or so years, it will be a bit easier, but so long as we don't wake up from this nightmare, there's no getting over it."

"Johanne…"

"Thank you for your well wishes, and I will definitely take you up on your offer some time, Heather." Johanne forced a smile before wheeling the cart away to finish her shopping. She moved past the few people in the aisles, ignoring the glares with difficulty.

She quickly finished up her shopping and headed home, saying nothing to the press' questions as she pushed past them into the house. Johanne didn't want to speak to them. She knew anything she had to say would just be used against her, and she didn't want to have to deal with the accusations.

Who would want to?

Johanne put the groceries away, mind slowly moving through the happenings of the month so far. A sadness had built up inside of her and it just wouldn't go down. She didn't know if it would ever go down. Probably not.

She felt her husband move next to her, helping her put up the groceries. Neither of them spoke. It was too tiring to speak about it. They were exhausted just from thinking about it.

They knew that they would eventually have to talk about it, but not yet. Johanne wanted to throw up every time she thought about it, so how could she _talk _about it? Even to one of the only people who understood how she felt—understood what she was going through.

Hopefully she would wake up soon. She would wake up and none of this would have happened, none of this would be real. Andre would still be alive.

He wouldn't be a murderer.


	4. The Gabriels

**May 21****st****, 2001  
>3:23 PM<strong>

The door to the Gabriel household was slammed shut and Pam looked up to see her daughter Madelyn storming over to her, eyes lined with red. Fear gripped her, and she knew immediately what her daughter was going to say to her. She didn't like it though. Why did she have to tell her eleven year old daughter so soon?

"Why is everybody calling Calvin a murderer?" Madelyn questioned at once, looking to be trying to hold back tears. "People keep coming up to me and calling me the murderer's sister and that Calvin was evil. Why would they say that? What did Calvin ever do to anybody?"

Pam looked over her daughter's shoulder at her husband Steve. The man shook his head slightly before taking a seat in a chair, holding his head in his hands. She sighed, lightly grabbing Madelyn's arm and pulling her down next to her on the couch.

"Maddie, sweetie… we need you to not pay any attention to what people say okay? Calvin was a good brother to you and Eric; he loved both of you, you know that, right?" She ran her hand through her daughter's hair.

"Of course I know that but what does that have to do with them calling Calvin a murderer?" The eleven year old's eyes watered, a tear falling over. "How could people say such horrible things about him? Did… did Calvin do something you're not telling me about?"

"There are a few things… we haven't told you about Calvin's… about Calvin's death, Madelyn." Steve spoke up causing both mother and daughter to look over at him. Pam swallowed, not sure if it was the right thing to tell Madelyn, but also knowing they didn't have much other choice than to do so. "I still don't feel as if you're old enough to know of the exact…" he hesitated. "Circumstance of it yet but we also can't keep you locked away in this house until you're older."

"Wh-what are you saying? I don't understand… what did Calvin _do_?"

Pam took her daughter's hand, squeezing it and the small blonde looked over at her mother. "Honey, your brother… he killed himself. Both he and his best friend Andre killed themselves."

"W-why would he… why would Calvin do that?" Madelyn asked, wiping at her face, trying to keep her crying in check.

"I-I think that's all you need to know, Maddie." Steve stated suddenly. "Why don't you go up to your room and play for a bit, alright? You don't need to know the rest of it. You're not old enough."

"I'm not a little kid! And this is my brother! Why can't I know about my brother?" Madelyn screamed, now freely crying. Pam pulled her daughter into a hug, sobs racking through her body. "I-I just want to know wh-what everybody else seems to know… why is Calvin dead? Wh-what happened that you guys aren't telling me and Eric?"

"Y-your father is right Maddie. We'll tell you when you're ready to know, but you're not ready to know just yet…" she stated quietly, rubbing Madelyn's back.

The blonde sniffed, looking straight ahead across the living room. "…D-did Calvin… did he kill those kids?"

The question shocked both Pam and Steve, but neither of them could deny the fact they should have seen it coming. Madelyn was a smart girl and the circumstances were just too difficult to deny. She wished that her little girl hadn't found out like this—she and her husband should have been the one to tell her, but they had just been trying to protect Madelyn from the hurt it would cause her to know what had really happened. Had that been so wrong?

"Maddie…" Steve started quietly, sitting up sharply.

The girl wiped at her face. "I've been thinking about it for awhile… I knew you guys weren't telling me and Eric everything and people keep calling him a murderer and I…" she hesitated. "I heard about what happened the day Calvin died. It was him, wasn't it? He killed those people. He and Andre, right?"

Pam looked over at Steve, not really knowing what to say. She swallowed. "Y-yes. We don't know why, but he and Andre did do… _that_. But that's not how your father and I want you to remember your brother, okay? Don't listen to those people saying all those awful things about him. What he did was horrible, but you know your brother and he loved you and Eric and he was a _really _good brother, wasn't he?"

"N-nobody is talking to me anymore and it's because of him, isn't it? Nobody likes me and wants to be my friend anymore. I-is that why you didn't want me and Eric to go back to school? Because you knew it would be like this?"

"Yes, Maddie," Steve told her quietly. "That's why."

The girl's face scrunched up, her hands clenching. "I-I hate Calvin! W-why did he do that? I _hate _him and I'm glad he's dead!" She jumped up, running upstairs to her room, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Madelyn!" Pam cried out after her daughter, fresh new tears rolling down her cheeks. "G-god… why did this happen to our family, Steve? Why did _our _son do this to us?" She swallowed tightly, hand clasping around her mouth as she sobbed.

There was no response, only the sound of Steve getting up and moving towards the mantle across from them. Steve stared at the senior picture of his son. The boy's face had a small—barely even there—smile upon it and Steve looked away, picking it up and laying it face down.

It hurt to look at.


End file.
